


Your Place Or Mine?

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Wall Slamming, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, What's Good Smut Without It, just a tad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7088902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Followup to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7079251">Stakeout Makeout</a> because they <i>definitely</i> banged that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Place Or Mine?

“Okay, as fun as this is, it’s freezing out here,” Dolls huffs on a big plume of mist.  His arms are around her waist under her coat.

But he’s got a point, her _everything_ is freezing.  “Your place or mine?” she teases, grazing another kiss against his lips.  There’s something frighteningly like _affection_ in the pit of her gut that she wants to quash.

“Yours,” he whispers.

She breaks away and sprints around the car to leap into the passenger seat, shivering with more than just the cold.  “Can we agree never to make out in the snow ever again?” she asks as he turns on the heat at full blast.  Her fingers prickle when she starts to regain feeling in them.

“Yeah,” he laughs.

After a few minutes, she mumbles, “Um, boss, where are you going?  My place is not that way.”

“This isn’t my car,” he answers, looking at her a little strangely.

Grinning, she unbuckles to lean over and hiss into his ear, “Take me _home_.  Now.”  For good measure, she drags her teeth over his earlobe, and she doesn’t miss the noise he makes in the back of his throat.

He might break more than a few traffic laws on his way to the homestead.  Their borrowed car _might_ skid a little on getting there.  Wynonna should mock him, she should, but she’s too busy getting up the porch steps in a hot hurry.  The lights aren’t on inside—she barely gets the light on and the door closed when Dolls has her crowded against it.  He brushes his lips against her, not enough pressure, just enough to drive her up the wall with want, but then she fists a hand in his sweater and jerks him closer.  The slide of their lips together is hot, sensuous, it’s not enough.

She pushes his coat off his shoulders, hears it in a distant way when it drops to the floor, sheds her own.  She can feel his muscles flex under his sweater but it’s not _enough_.

“Bedroom,” she pants when he breaks away.

They make it halfway down the hallway before she shoves him against the wall and slamming her mouth into his, hungry and hard.  She shoves his sweater up his chest, and he wastes no time in dragging it off.  She gets a little distracted by the way his A-shirt cling to him and he reverses their position, knocking her hard into the wall with just shy of bruising force.  He lifts her up, she locks her legs around his waist and groans when he bites at her throat.

“Wynonna, are you dru—” her sister’s voice breaks off.

Dolls drops her, and her boots thud thunderously on the floor.  “I didn’t think you were home,” Wynonna gasps almost accusatory.

“I… am?” she laughs, guilty.  “I’m gonna go—I’m gonna, yeah, go.”  She nods, not looking at either of them.

“Waverly?” Dolls calls as she passes them, looking down.  He digs in his pocket and holds up a set of keys.  “Take this back to the station?”  Her sister looks almost relieved that he’s giving her a legitimate reason to get lost and snatches them away.  “And sorry!” he shouts after her, scrubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re so cute,” Wynonna croons without even a touch of irony, stroking his chest.  “Now, I think we were on our way somewhere…”

“Were we?” he murmurs, massaging her hip.

“Somewhere in, um,” she points, “That direction.”

He kisses her, gently this time, lifting her top up over her head, drops it and smooths her hair.  She pushes him away, snags his fingers in hers, tugs him into her bedroom.  Her fingers work quickly at getting his jeans off of him.

“I didn’t have you pegged as a boxers guy,” she mumbles thoughtfully.

“Think about that often?” he murmurs, teasing under her bra strap.

“Only as a means to imagine what’s underneath,” she whispers, dragging her teeth over his lip with only enough pressure to brush.  One good shove gets him on the bed.  “Normally I’d do like… a striptease but, yanno, business here I wanna get to, so,” she jokes, kicking off her boots and jeans and climbing into his lap.

“Maybe some other time,” he laughs, hands hot on her thighs, her ass.

“Mhm,” she breathes, rolling her hips slowly, hands coming up to his face, thumb tugging open his lower lip.  He lays back and she follows, never easing her languid, almost torturous rock against him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and it sends a thrill down her spine.

Pecking the corner of his mouth, she sits up, reaches behind herself to unhook her bra.  She tosses it over her shoulder, stops his hands short before they can reach her breasts.  With a quick, sharp smirk, she kisses his palm, lets his thumb drag over her lips, lets it press in, bites on the knuckle.  His breath jumps; her tongue slithers over the pad of his thumb.  He groans, pushes up against her.  She watches his eyes squeeze shut as she sucks, just so, drawing it deeper into her mouth.

“Christ, Wynonna,” he growls.

Under his fiery gaze, her hands drop, tease over her nipples, squeeze.  She drops with hands over his shoulders, kisses him quick and hard, whispers, “How do you want me?”  They flip, and he hovers over her as she laughs, “Like this?  Condoms, nightstand.”

She misses his weight when he stands, rips his undershirt over his head.   She wriggles out of her panties, wet and throbbing with need, not sure what part of him she wants to be _looking_ at when he’s standing there bare for her.

But she’s _very_ interested in the way he rolls on that rubber, which is not something she’s ever experienced before, but his movements are almost lazy and there’s electricity in the air.  “On your knees,” he orders, voice lower than she’s ever heard it.

Moaning breathlessly, she rolls onto her belly, pushes herself up onto her hands and knees.  His hand grasps at her ass, slides up to her hip, and pulls her back as he presses into her, hard, drawing a high-pitched gasp out of her.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Uh-huh,” she whines.

His hips buck against hers, fast and rough, fingers digging bruises into her hips but everything feels like it’s on fire and the pleasurepain is too _good_.  Every thrust sends shivering bolts up through her gut, punctuated with moans, his own gasps of pleasure fueling the building pressure inside her. 

She feels his hands ride up her waist, and she lets herself be pulled and this angle is _better_ god and she hears a high string of curses that are too desperate to really come from _her_ when his teeth dig into her neck.  She rocks back into him on every thrust, so close, she’s _so close_ and she may be saying _that_ out loud too but she’s pretty much lost control of her mouth at that point.

His fingers roll over her nipples, grip her breasts just on the line of too hard.

When she trips over that edge, she cums so hard she thinks she sees black for a minute, aftershocks rocketing through every inch of her as his hips jerk, hard but slowing, each one pulling another cry out of her.  It’s hard to say how long it is until he pulls away, fingers lingering for just a moment before he’s gone and her brain is _mush_.  She stretches out on her stomach, legs hanging over the side of the bed uncomfortably until she wriggles her way fully into it, sticky-slick and oversensitive.

The bed dips with the sudden weight as Dolls climbs in next to her.

“You forgot to turn out the light,” she mumbles into her pillow.

He jostles her gently until he’s curled around her back, tugs the blanket over them, pecks the back of her neck.  “It can wait,” he whispers.

“I guess,” she yawns.

Hours later, when she wakes up to pee and wrestles herself out of his sleepy grasp, the light is still on and she grumbles about the electric bill.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Nyxierose for commenting on all my mediocre fic!
> 
> Errr, I have a [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I'm always game to talk about Wynonna Earp and take prompts to write about these two losers!


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